Left 4 Dead: Europa
by HunterSeeker1029
Summary: When Green Flu hits Europe, four Survivors meet from the smoke and chaos. A witty Brit, a wary Frenchman, a model Ukrainian, and an icy German must all survive the European zombie apocalypse. Rated T for cursing.


_A good friend of mine illustrated the character in my fanfic. Thanks to her for taking the time to bringing the characters to life! Unfortunately, for some reason the link will not show up properly. I'll have to find some other way to show it, unless there's some hidden feature of that I'm missing to post links to images and all that.  
_

Now, on to the prologue. You know how some stories start off with their prologues being right in the middle of the story? Well, this is one of them, so don't worry, I will go back to step one and explain how they meet, how the Infection starts in Europe, and all that.

_**PROLOGUE**_

**November 15, 2009**

**Hamburg, Germany**

**Warehouse District**

The Warehouses of Hamburg have always been famous for their storage of goods like tobacco, coffee, rum, and other imports. They've been top tourist attractions for the city, as the warehouses were Gothic-styled and a sight to behold.

Now, however, it was storing four exhausted survivors of a pandemic of titanic proportions. And the tourists were long gone.

"We won't be able to stay here indefinitely," one of the four temporary inhabitants of this part of the Gothic warehouses announced. His accent was German, but his English was excellent. Unusually excellent.

"Caught on, have we Wulf?" a second voice rang out, a thick British accent piercing his every word. "This playground we're in has bound to have gathered attention by now. I'm surprised no one has come in yet. We ought to leave, although the humidity is awfully comforting."

The third survivor shifted his position on the crate he was sitting on. "Nostalgic comparisons to your bar will not help us get any further, Archer."

"Awfully complicated words for a Frenchman, don't you think? I'm beginning to worry about you, using the English language so elegantly," Archer shot back, his grin ever-present.

The Frenchman snorted. "_Je déteste vraiment votre merde." _

"You detest my shit? Well do you expect my crap to smell like freshly baked cinnamon buns? Or one of Lavra's many assortments of perfumes?" Archer gestured to the fourth figure in the group, a girl, sitting cross-legged on a crate. The girl named Lavra sighed. "Sorry boys, my perfume is only for the _classy,"_ she said with a heavy Slavic accent.

A sharp _ahem _cut across the conversation, and Wulf leered at both of them. "Enough! We need to think of what we're going to do next. The port is not too far away."

As if on cue, a distant explosion was heard, and the shockwaved rumbled through the warehouse. It did not help diminish the constant sounds of chaos and gunshots outside. Lavra's lips tightened. "Something tells me that whatever is between us and those boats is going to make our trip lots longer," she said.

Archer shrugged dismissively. "You Russians, always the cynical type. Last I checked we got weapons-" he patted his rifle-"we got food"-he jabbed a thumb to the backpack strapped onto him-"and, most importantly, we got this jolly old fellow!" he put an arm around the Frenchman's shoulders.

"I'm _Ukrainian," _Lavra said coolly as the withering Frenchman batted off Archer's arm.

"Ah, same thi-"

**BOOM.**

The front doors of the warehouse shook with enough force to make all four of them jump. Wulf, the one closest to the large doors, stepped back a few paces.

"That is no battering ram," Archer murmured. Wulf cursed quietly in German.

**BOOM. **The next hit was followed by a roar.

"That's no angry man," Archer murmered again, louder this time. "What the fuck do we do now?" Lavra gasped, her knuckles white from holding her pistols.

"There's no way out of here," Wulf said, even though he looked around the warehouse, scanning for anything, _anything _for salvation.

**BOOOM. **This time, dozens of pounding noises was heard, like fists pounding on steel, and the doors shook more violently.

"We have to fight our way through them," the old Frenchman rumbled, and he sat up, flipping off the safety on his FAMAS rifle.

"How the-how the _fuck _are we going to fight through them? There must be dozens out there!" Lavra said, her voice not quite hysterical, but it was creeping towards that level.

"This is a warehouse, kid. We'll make the most of it," Wulf replied, his eyes now locked on the rapidly weakening doors.

**BOOM. **Angry voices and screaming were now heard above the sound of the much larger and incoherent snarling. Whatever was making that larger sound was big. _Very _big.

"That door's not going to withstand another blow," Lavra cried.

"Lavra, Archer, get behind me. Napoleon," Wulf turned to the aging French soldier. "You still got the homemade stuff?"

The man with an emperor's name grinned, reached into his coat and took out what looked like a box with many wires and smaller, colored boxes on it. "_Oui._"

"I'm always going to laugh in my head whenever I hear that name, Nappy," Archer snickered. "It's such a silly name, I don't see the harm in telling us your real name right before we're about to die."

"Archer, shut up and ready yourself. Napoleon, you know what to do in case…" the other man nodded and stuffed the box back in his coat. He then aimed his rifle at the doors, which were on their hinges now.

"I don't like this," Lavra groaned loudly.

"Don't worry darling, in just a few minutes you're going to love what we'll meet at the port," Archer smirked.

"But what if we don't make it to the po-"

**CRASH.**

Their weapons flashed.

"I HATE TOURISTS!" Archer screamed.


End file.
